


In My Arms Is Where You Are To Be

by thecivilunrest



Category: The White Queen (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecivilunrest/pseuds/thecivilunrest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Where was the fault of loving you with my whole heart?</i>
</p><p>AU fix-it fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as "AU where Richard isn't such a dick." Also, obviously the timeline is a little convoluted for this fic, sorry about that but it's the only way to make this work. It won't really be a full fledged story as much as it'll be just specific moments that are all connected, though I'll try to make the transitions as smooth as I can.
> 
> If you don't know what this is about, I suggest you don't go looking for it. If you do, let's hug.

Anne knows that the crown sits easier on her head than it does her husbands. She knows that he has his lingering doubts, even now that they’ve made their boy Prince of Wales, now that they have the whole kingdom under their grasp. 

Even the Woodville witch comes out of sanctuary eventually, taking her daughters with her to the country. The oldest two come to court and Anne welcomes them as graciously as she can. She remembers what it is like to be humiliated by a queen, and resolves not to do that, not even to the daughters of a woman that she hates. 

The Rivers girls are beautiful and gracious, having grown up in the court and learning courtly ways as much as sheltered princesses can. Cecily is bright and well learned, forever reading books and watching the going-ons of court with wide eyes. For the first time she does not have her father the king to shield her. Elizabeth is beautiful, as golden as her mother with her father’s charm; she is the perfect princess, even now when she has been stripped of all her titles. 

Princess brought down to being only bastards; it must be harder than Cecily and Elizabeth let on, and yet Anne never hears the whisper of a complaint from either of them. 

They attract attention, male and female alike, and she cannot begrudge them that. If they were anyone else Anne would be just as charmed as everyone in the court seems to be. 

Even Richard seems to be falling under their spell--specifically Elizabeth’s. Ever since Henry Tudor had announced his intentions to marry Elizabeth, ever since their betrothal was confirmed, Richard has turned 

Anne hears the rumors about Richard becoming far too friendly with his niece. They whisper of his attentions towards her, of how much he likes her company. Richard and Elizabeth often walk together in the garden, their laughter floating all the through the castle walls, where Anne can hear them when she is near a window. 

In a way, Anne can understand this--Lizzie is the last link to Richard’s favorite brother. Cecily is not like Edward, not in the way that Elizabeth is. 

Soon, though, soon the whispers turn vile, saying that he desires more than his niece’s company. After all, they way, Elizabeth is beautiful and young and vibrant. 

Anne cannot argue with that. She knows that she has never been beautiful; not in the way that Elizabeth Woodville is, not in the way that her sister was. Richard called her beautiful, but he had been the only one. 

If Richard never truly loved her, which is something that Anne never thought to think until recent years, then of course his head would be turned by youth and beauty and vivaciousness. 

Still, though, Anne ignores the rumors and carries her head high until she sees them one day in the middle of court. 

She had been putting Edward to bed. He never slept well in Westminster, and so she read him a story and tucked him in before kissing his forehead. Richard came as well, as often as he was able to pull away from his kingly duties. Lately this had been happening less and less, and Edward had asked for his father. 

“I will speak to him,” Anne promised her son before returning to the great hall, which is where she saw Elizabeth and Richard together. In that moment she could see where the rumors had started. Lizzie was the picture of womanly grace with her viol, and Richard bending down beside her, a gallant knight. 

They are beautiful together, the picture of loveliness, and Anne feels as though someone has cut her heart and left it to bleed. Tears come to her eyes but she pushes them down so that no one can see them. 

This is, after all, what it means to be queen. 

.

Richard is not able to come to her bed as often as he did when they lived in Warwick Castle, where they seemed to be able to get time alone together. Now that they are the king and queen they are hardly ever alone, certainly not with each other. This is the price to pay for power, and Anne understands that the king often has things to do that do not include coming to visit his wife. 

Now, though, Anne writes a note to Richard to insure that he comes to her. She promises herself that she will not be a wife scorned, that she will not be shrill and unfair. She will ask him, with all of the dignity befitting the Neville that she still is, what exactly his intentions with Elizabeth are. 

She is finally ready for bed, her fire almost down, by the time that Richard finally comes to her rooms. Anne does not want to contemplate what took him so long to get here, where he could have been before, and so she does not. Instead she motions to the chair across from hers. 

Richard seems surprised, but he sits and grabs the goblet of wine that she offers him. “I must admit I did not think that this is what you meant when you said that you need me to come to your rooms urgently,” he says, a slight smile on his face. 

“No, I imagine not.” Anne takes a deep breath and a sip of wine to steady herself. If she does not ask now, she will never ask. “You know that I am the reason for the continued northern support, and yet what will happen to you if they think that you shame me? Richard, what are your intentions with our niece Elizabeth?”

Her husband is frozen, with surprise of fear Anne is not sure. The kingship has made him unreadable to her sometimes, causing a rift between the two of them. There was a point in their lives when Anne knew Richard’s face better than her own, but that time has long since past. 

“If Henry Tudor marries Elizabeth then there will be nothing standing in his way to my throne,” Richard tells her finally, after a silence has stretched between them. “She must be seen-- _I_ must be seen to weaken his claim on her?” 

“You would ruin your own niece?” Anne cannot fathom this, cannot fathom the man in front of her stooping to this. 

Her husband’s face grows dark. “I will do what I must to keep the crown. I have sacrificed far too much to give it up now. Surely you of all people would realize that.” 

“Do you love her, though? Just tell me that, Richard. Do you love her?” _Did you ever love me?_ she wants to ask, but she cannot bring herself to. For not the first time Anne curses her mother for putting doubts into her head, for casting a shadow on Richard’s love for her. 

Instead of answering, Richard stands up and walks over to where she is sitting. She can no longer read his expression, the moonlight behind him, leaving only an outline of him before he kneels before her and grabs both of her hands. 

“I have always loved you, and I will always love you. Do not doubt that.” She can feel Richard’s gaze on her face like a physical touch, even in the darkness. 

“I cannot stand to watch the two of you together,” Anne admits, her voice barely audible to even herself. Richard squeezes her hands. 

“I am sorry if I have hurt you. I wish there was another way to do this, where you would be spared the pain. But know this: I will never lie with her, and I will always think of you. You are my whole heart. You cannot forget that.” 

Anne takes a deep breath. “I will not,” she promises, before Richard rises and presses his lips to hers. 

. 

The next day Richard dances with Elizabeth, and she only feels a twinge of pain. _He thinks only of me_ , she reminds herself, and when Richard’s eyes meet hers across the room she believes it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get out, I was just reluctant to write this. Hope it was worth the wait.

Anne knows that babies are fragile things; here one day and gone the next. Children are so small and so precious that God takes them away more often than not. The children that grow to be adults are the lucky ones. 

Edward had been ten years old when he died, and Anne had thought that they were past all of that, that her son would be a lucky one. He had always been sickly, but then so had Richard. It could be outgrown, except when the child stopped growing at all. 

By the time the funeral comes about Anne is sure that she has filled an ocean with her tears. 

She has had very little contact with Richard--he has been so busy trying to fill the spot that their son had taken up in the line of succession, he has had a state funeral to prepare--and so she lets him go. Anne does not ask for him at night, does not ask for him at all. 

Instead she stays with Margaret and little Teddy, watching them breathe, watching their little hearts continue to beat in a way that Ned’s never will. Richard has promised to make Teddy his heir, and Anne likes to think that Isabel would be pleased by this. At the very least, George would be. 

On the day of the funeral Anne dresses in complete silence, her hands shaking. This is the day that her boy will be put to rest, and she has to face the fact that she will never see him again, never hold him. 

She had been so proud the day that he had been pronounced as the Prince of Wales. The Kingmaker’s grandson, heir to the kingdom of England, a prince before a king. Her heart had swollen twice its size that day, bursting with pride and happiness. 

And now there is nothing but a hole where her heart used to be. 

Margaret and Teddy are waiting for her to walk with them when she is done getting dressed, and Anne hugs them both tightly before letting go. These children are reminders of everything that she’s lost--her sister, her son--but she cannot help but love them anyway. 

Margaret in particular is somber, her having been the one to announce that Ned was dying. Anne strokes her soft cheek and hopes that she realizes that it was not her fault that her cousin died. 

Little hands in hers Anne walks into the church, but even the support from the children cannot keep her knees from buckling as she falls into a heap and cries. Richard, who had carried the casket that their son lays dead in, is not with her and in that moment Anne feels so alone. Elizabeth is beside him instead of her, and yet Anne cannot make herself get up, cannot make herself reach Richard halfway. 

Her own grief is too much and so she cries alone, until strong arms wrap around her from behind. 

In the space of a few heartbeats has to reorient herself, but when she turns she finds Richard kneeling down with her, burying his face in her neck. She can feel the wetness from her neck soak into the shoulder of her gown, and so Anne turns around and wraps her arms around him as well. 

They hold each other at their son’s funeral in a way that they had not since becoming the king and queen of England, and in that moment they are not a king and queen losing an heir but a mother and father grieving the loss of their poor boy. 

Anne wishes that they could stay this way forever. 

.

For the next few weeks Anne sees very little of Richard. He attempts to come to her chambers every day, but often he is not there for very long, perhaps fifteen minutes at the most. She misses him in an abstract way, her heart still contracting with pain. 

She is sewing one night in her chambers when he comes in. “Leave us,” he tells her ladies, who all curtsey before making their way out. Elizabeth lingers behind, giving him a glance that’s too long to truly be proper, but she too goes. 

“My queen,” Richard says, bringing her hand to his lips. “Would you like to have supper with me alone tonight?” 

“Of course,” she says, setting aside what she was doing. She wonders what Richard is putting off to be with her. They have not been alone since before Ned died. 

He must have already arranged something with the kitchen, because the maids come bearing heaping plates of food, more than enough for two people. Rice with almond milk, lenten slices, and salomene are among the leading dishes and Anne watches this with her eyebrows raised. 

“Is there some occasion that I am not aware of?” she asks when they finally sit to eat. Richard fixes her plate for her, putting twice as much food as she would eat in two days onto it, making sure that her favorites are all there. 

“I have been informed that you are not eating,” he tells her. “Nor are you sleeping.” 

Anne looks down at her food, all looking beautiful and completely unappetizing. Her stomach does not even growl at the thought of it, even though she has not eaten anything all day. 

“Everything that I put in my mouth turns to ash,” she admits, finally telling him the truth. And I cannot sleep because when I do Ned’s face comes to me, happy and healthy. I do not want to be happy with him in dreams if I cannot be with him in life.” 

The hand that Richard slams down onto the table makes the plates shake and Anne jump. “Anne, you must take care of yourself! You cannot waste away because of Ned’s death. He would not want that and I-” here Richard pauses. “I cannot be king without you.” 

“I did not think that you would notice,” she tells him, glancing at the food once again. A tear drops onto the table, and she puts her hands to her face and they come back wet. She did not even feel herself begin to cry. 

“I know when you are ill,” he reminds her. “I may not have been able to see you as often as I would like, but I will always see how you are doing. I vowed to be your champion once, do you remember that?” 

“Yes,” Anne whispers, thinking of when they were children and first married. How could that just be twelve years? She feels as if she has aged so much more than that, that they both have. 

“And I vowed to love and cherish you as well. I have not forgotten my promises to you, Anne. Now you must promise me that you will eat and rest. I cannot lose you too.” 

“I will,” she promises. 

Richard makes her eat all of the food on her plate, and even though it does not taste as well as it should have, neither does it taste like ash. When that is done he helps her ready herself for bed in a way that he hasn’t done since they were at Warwick Castle and the world was rightside up. 

“There is no point in even touching me,” she tells him when he has placed her in bed, “not after twelve years of bareness.” 

“Not even for love?” Richard asks, his face stricken. 

There are so many ways that Anne could respond to this, but she cannot make herself be cruel. So Anne holds out her hand and Richard takes it, and they are united again as man and wife.


	3. Chapter 3

Anne can feel when death decides to claim her for its own. Ever since Ned was laid to rest she has felt the shadow of death hovering over her shoulder, and it is only now, months later, that she can feel it take her into its grasp. 

She finds that she is no longer scared of death; there is the issue of her nephews, but once that nightmare is waved away by Lord Brackenbury’s words she finds that her words did not kill two innocent boys, she is ready to die. 

Her sister and son will be waiting for her, and she will be able to see her father again. He will be proud of her, she thinks. One of his daughters ended up on the crown of England, even if it is in a way that he could never have imagined. She is ready to meet her maker, to confess her sins and let God have the final judgement and to see all of the family that she has lost. 

The only thing that worries Anne is leaving Richard. There might have been a time when she would have been glad to die, to leave him alone, but that time has passed. Richard, a man who does not say what he does not mean unless he has a reason, and even then he loathes it, has confessed to her that he cannot be king without her. 

Of course that is silly nonsense, brought on by desperation and fear, he does not mean it. Richard is strong and healthy and he will be a fine king without her by his side. But that does not mean that she does not worry about him, that she will not miss him. 

.

Anne knows that it is futile, but she tries to hide her illness from her husband anyway. 

At first she attempts to to cover up her larger coughs with smaller ones, holding her breath when she can feel a fit coming on. This progresses to hiding bloody handkerchiefs; as her coughs get worse more and more blood appears in her hand. 

She cannot hide this forever, however, and one night Anne is drowsing by the fire when her husband walks into her rooms. He kneels at her feet before she is fully awake, and when he takes her hand the handkerchief flutters to the ground. The red stains are large, damning where they bleed through the cloth. 

Richard’s expression turns from gentle to horrified as he grasps it before his two fingers. “How long have things been this bad?” he asks, and Anne has to focus on the rings on her fingers instead of his face to answer him. 

“At least a fortnight,” she admits, “but no longer than that.” 

“Have you called for a physician?” 

“No.” 

“Anne-” he sighs, grabbing both her hands and bringing them to his lips. His mouth is warm and gentle as it moves from one fine bone to another before stopping on her coronation ring. “Why would you do this to yourself?” 

“Because I already know what the physicians are going to tell me,” Anne tells him the truth, looking at him straight in the eyes. She has felt so cold lately that there is a fire burning in hearth, and the flames make light flicker over his face. She puts a hand where the flames have left a shadow, savoring the warm skin beneath her own. 

“And what is that?” he asks. 

“Oh, love,” she breathes, before lowering her face to his so that their lips could meet. She does not want to think about the fact that this might be the last time. 

.

Richard commands the physician to her rooms the next morning and by late afternoon all of court knows that the queen is dying. The physicians also announce that the king and queen are no longer allowed to share a bed, which tells everyone how dire things are now. 

Anne is confined to her bed and she does not mind it too much. She can sleep as much as she wants now, and by each passing day she wants to sleep more and more. Her ladies read to her, poetry that they have written or her favorite stories from the bible, and the days pass that way. 

Richard ignores the physicians advice to stay away from her, coming to visit almost every day. Once Anne awakes to see him on the edge of her bed on his knees, rosary between his clasped hands as he prays for her. There are tears on his face and she wishes that she could wipe them away, but she knows that he does not want her to see him breaking. She falls back asleep instead and wakes the next morning to find him in the same position, only this time asleep. 

It is during one of his visits that Anne finally brings up what she has been thinking of when she is awake. She does not know how he is going to take her words and so she tries to proceed with caution. 

“I want you to marry again,” she says suddenly when he is sitting on her bed. Richard rears back like she has slapped him and he immediately stands up and turns his back to her. 

“How can you even think that I would even begin to think of that when you are-” 

“Richard,” she interrupts him, wishing that she could be touching him as well. “It is what is best for England.” There is a small, petty part of Anne that wishes that she did not have to do this. That she could give Richard the children that he deserves and that England needs, but that ship has long since sailed past them both. She only gave him one boy, a beautiful boy, but one who died too soon and she will never be able to have another. “I have given this thought, and Portugal has Lancastrian blood. Henry Tudor plans to marry our niece Elizabeth to combine our two warring houses, does he not? The Princess Joanna should be suitable. She is young and devout and-” 

He finally turns to look at her after those words, and he steps closer to the bed. “How long have you been thinking of this?” Richard asks, his voice low. 

“Since I became ill,” she admits. “Richard, it is the right thing to do.” 

“I cannot do it, not when you are still alive-” His voice breaks and Anne sits up further then, reaching for his hand. He meets her half way, grasps her hand in his, and Anne has to blink back tears. There will come a time when she will hold her husband’s hand in hers for the last time, when she will never see him again. 

“If you do not do it now then I do not trust you to do it at all. It is my dying wish,” she adds when Richard looks at her, and he finally nods. 

.

Elizabeth is the only lady that is in Anne’s room as she lays dying. “You will take care of the king?” Anne asks her, all vitriol gone now that she is secure in Richard’s love. The lovely young bastard will never have his love, not in the way that Anne knows that she desires, and Anne almost pities her that. But Anne can trust Elizabeth’s love to help Richard in any way that she can. 

“Yes, of course,” Elizabeth whispers. 

At the sound of this promise Anne can finally feel herself begin to fade, and she is glad of it. The last thing she hears is Richard’s voice calling her name, and then she sees Ned, running towards her with his arms outstretched. Isabel is not far behind him, hands holding up her skirts so she can run faster too. 

There is only the aftertaste of melancholy when Anne thinks of Richard before she settles into the happiness that is the people that she has lost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, now this is done too. I'm so glad. 
> 
> Also, I haven't watched That Scene (as we call it on tumblr, lol) and that probably shows, but whatever, this is my AU so I can do what I want. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading this story to the end, I couldn't have finished this without you.

Anne’s funeral is one of the worst days of Richard’s life, if not the worst. 

He never thought that the day of Ned’s funeral would be replaced as the worst day this quickly, and yet here it is. There is no one to share his grief with, no one for Richard to lean on. He never realized how much he relied on Anne until she was dead and he no longer has her support. 

Richard does not mean to weep, does not mean to show his grief, and yet he cannot stop the tears from falling as he listens to the priest pray for Anne’s soul. 

Anne looks peaceful in death, the sort of peace that Richard could not give her in life. He heard her last words, how they were about Ned and Isabel, and he hopes that she is with them and that she is happy. He hopes that almost as much as he wishes that she did not have to die. 

The courtiers leave as soon as it is appropriate for them to, and Richard does not blame them. There is no room for them here, not in a church that is crowded with his grief. Only his niece Elizabeth lingers behind. 

“Richard,” she says finally, after the silence has stretched for a thousand years. 

He cannot seem to bring himself from turning away from Anne. This will be the last time that he will see her on this Earth and he does not want to make the moment shorter than it needs to be. 

“Yes?” 

“I-” Elizabeth seems to struggle for words. Finally she says, “Queen Anne was blessed here with us just as much as she will be blessed in heaven.”

“I do not doubt that,” Richard says, and he truly believes it. If there is anyone who deserves heaven, it is Anne, especially with the hell that the end of her days turned into. 

.

Richard throws himself into preparing for war. 

He knows that people say that the darkening of the sun on the day that Anne died means that this is it for York, that their sun has finally burned out. He tries not to focus on silly superstitions, but he cannot help but wonder if this is true. 

Thinking of battle plans and raising money and convincing Parliament of everything that there is to do, of everything that needs to be approved of, is easier than wallowing in grief. Richard would rather be focusing on this than asking God why He found it necessary to take everything from him. 

First his heir and then his queen and now, finally, his crown is jeopardy. Soon there will be nothing left of Richard at all, and he cannot find it in himself to care as much as he should. 

_It is what is best for England_ , Anne told him in one of their last conversations. That is the lifeline that he holds onto as he continues to work, to train against Henry Tudor, as he furthers the negotiations on the marriage contract with Portugal. _It is what is best for England_ , Anne reminds him, and he believes her. 

.

The air before battle is heavy, suffocating. At this time of night camp is entirely silent as men prepare to fight--or die--as soon as there is light. And still, Richard cannot sleep. 

He tosses and turns for an hour before giving up on sleep and goes to take a walk instead. The air is thick, muggy, pure summer. He would still be on progress if this was a normal summer and there wasn’t a crown to fight for. What he wouldn’t give for the cold snap of winter, for the passage of time, for this battle to be over. 

What he wouldn’t give for Anne and Ned to be waiting for him to return victorious. 

Instead, if he wins the battle, he will no one to share his victory with. It is a disheartening thought.

What use is a crown if there is no one to share it with? 

. 

There is someone in Richard’s tent when he returns, and he curses Henry Tudor for being this cowardly, for sending a spy to finish the job for him instead of meeting Richard in battle. Richard is about to yell for a guard, to take out the dagger that is sheathed at his hip, when the figure says, “Richard, it’s me, Lizzie.” 

He cannot think of any reason why his niece should be in his tent the night before battle, why she should be in an army’s camp at all. It is no place for a woman who is the daughter of a king. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks. 

“I did not want you to be alone.” Lizzie fidgets before saying. “Queen Anne asked me to take care of you, right before she died.” 

That sounds like Anne, using her death as a time for promises. “I am certain that did not extend to coming to my tent alone on the eve of battle.” 

“No, but.” Lizzie looks down at the ground. “I have something to ask you, and then I will leave.” She takes a deep breath when Richard does not answer since he does not know what to say. 

“Before Queen Anne died, before the prince died...when I first came to court...did you love me? Or was it all a game, the way everyone says that it was?” 

In the light of the moon Elizabeth looks down to the ground as she waits for his answer, the very picture of loveliness. 

“I do not know how to love anyone but Anne,” Richard finally tells her. “Maybe I will one day, but I have never loved another.” 

Elizabeth takes a deep breath. “I thought as much. I am glad of it. Well, that is all I wanted to know,” she says, pulling her hood up to cover her face. There is a note in Lizzie’s voice that suggests that she is trying not to cry, but Richard does not have the words that she wants to hear. When she walks away from him, he does not call her back to him. 

.

When Lord Stanley betrays him, when Henry Tudor’s men come upon them, Richard knows that it is over. He screams “Treason!” because that is what it is, and then he knows nothing but pain and shuts his eyes. 

When he opens them again he sees Anne holding her hand out to him. “We’re all waiting for you,” she says, grabbing his hand. He follows her where she leads him and does not look back.


End file.
